Noble Blood
by Lady Elena Dawson
Summary: "I'm damaged goods, Ezra," she told him and slipped her hand out of his. "This angel you see isn't real. So let me go before you end up hurting yourself." Previously titled "The Beginning of the Aftermath."
1. Prologue

**The Beginning of the Aftermath**

**Summary: **"I'm damaged goods, Ezra," she told him and slipped her hand out of his. "This angel you see isn't real. So let me go before you end up hurting yourself." After disowning himself from his family, Ezra Fitz takes a tutoring position at a wealthy home of an only mother and her beautiful, seemingly flawless daughter. But what he doesn't know is the dark secrets rotting underneath her perfect appearance.

**Prologue: That Summer Day**

_Plink. Plink. Plink. Plink._

Aria watched the water dripping from the leaky ceiling fall and splash to the ground. _Plink. Plink. Plink._

She was biting her lip, but realized she'd chapped them if she continued. Shivering from the room's chilly atmosphere—and from a shrill scream that erupted from a nearby hallway—Aria slipped off her lacy gloves and stared longingly down at her recently cleaned, polished, and trimmed fingernails. As usual, Lacey did an amazing job, despite Aria's protests that she could do it herself. "No offense, Miss," Lacey had clucked, "but if we allowed you to dress and polish as you pleased, with the dirt under your nails and your hair flowing free and your cheeks and lips colorless, any stranger would think you were a boy."

"Would not," Aria had jokingly snapped. "I'd still wear a dress, but I'd burn that horrible corset."

Now Aria couldn't resist the temptation anymore and chomped on what had been so precisely filed and buffered.

"Aria?" A grave nurse with dark circles under her eyes came out and waved Aria in. "She's ready to see you."

Prying her fingers away from her mouth, Aria stood up and smoothed down her dress, her heart racing. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, and folded her gloves in her hands. Her fingers were numb from the unheated place, but she was trembling too much to put her gloves back on.

As they neared her cell, Aria could hear her: that alluring, almost normal, humming. But a closer listen revealed the barely-there, maniacal giggles after each phrase. When the nurse led her into the room, there she was, crouched in the corner and brushing a doll's nest of hair. Her long, tangled mass of locks covered her face, but Aria pictured a sinister smirk on her lips and shivered.

"Hello, Aria," the lunatic spoke calmly. "Long time, no see. You left me here, and now you never visit." She finally parted her wall of hair and gazed at Aria piercingly. If it wasn't for her hospital apparel, ratty hair, and scratched face, she would have almost appeared normal. She gestured to the single piece of furniture in the room that the nurse had dragged in. "Please, sit."

For a few fleeting seconds Aria just glared at the patient's eyes and was uncomfortable by the lack of crazy in them. Stiffly and reluctantly she bent her knees and sat down. The disheveled girl in front of her continued tending to the doll.

"It's funny," she remarked, then giggled childishly before continuing, "I can't even remember the time anymore. What date is it?"

Aria's nose crinkled and she glanced up at the nurse, who didn't even seem bothered. She reverted her gaze to the mental patient. "June seventeenth."

"Summer!" the girl exclaimed, setting aside her doll and clapping her hands together. "I've forgotten how much I love summer! But this place doesn't have windows." She shook her head disapprovingly and took out something from her pocket. "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

It was a locket. Aria curiously studied it and wondered why the nurse allowed her to have anything that could strangle someone. But then she noticed that the chain had been removed. _Still_, Aria thought. _She could dent someone's skull with it._

The locket clicked open. "Isn't this a lovely picture?" she asked politely as she handed it to Aria to see. "It's my favorite of us five."

Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, Aria reached for it and almost dropped it when her rosy hand came in contact with the girl's icy skin. Her pulse pounded in her body, and she brought it closer to her face and went cold when she saw it.

It was, indeed, a picture of all five of them. Five ladies of noble birth who'd been friends since who knew how long. They were all free to live their lives—except one of them was locked up.

"I miss those days." The rugged girl sighed. "When we used to be friends. But you're the only one who visits me, Aria." Her bottom lip came forward in a pout. "Why is that?"

Aria avoided the girl's scarily penetrating eyes and instead found a new interest in her lap. "Unfinished business," she stated, then looked back up.

"But _all_ of you have unfinished business with me. So why you?"

Aria clamped her lips firmly and felt her blood begin to boil. "You know why."

"Oh—!" she exclaimed and scampered forward, putting her hands over Aria's face. The motion was so quick, Aria had no time to react, and she bit back a scream, not wanting to start a commotion. The nurse gave the patient a stern, serious look and Aria breathed in relief when she backed off and sat on the ground she had originally been perched on. She put a finger to her cracked lips instead. "That's our secret. Nurse Bessie doesn't have to know." And she coolly picked up the doll and smoothed out the wrinkles in its tattered dress.

"Miss Aria, you are a killer," she unexpectedly droned in monotone, making Aria's eyes grow wide. But then she gave Aria a sweet, innocent smile and winked. "I'm joking."

Aria let out a pent-up breath and leaned back in the seat, despite the difficulty with the corset. She had come here to see a person who had once been her friend, but she had no idea why. Right now, it seemed like Aria was as crazy as the patients in this asylum. She and her friends told each other to forget about their lunatic of a friend the moment she was locked up. But it was hard to forget after everything she'd done. And Aria would never forgive her for it, and if everyone knew the story, they wouldn't blame her for holding the grudge.

"You know, old friend," the girl chirped and positioned her doll so that it was sitting up, its single eye staring, unblinking, at Aria. "I really enjoyed his blood running down my fingers." To emphasize her point, she spread open her fingers and studied them like they were dripping with blood now. "And the feeling of his bones snapping between my grip was ecstatic."

Those words caused Aria to harden into a steaming, burning statue. She clenched her fists in her lap and held back the urge to slap her ex-friend silly, beat her until she surrendered, but knowing this girl she knew she'd never give up on a fight, physical _or _verbal. "No one will forgive you. Everyone already knows you're a servant of Satan," Aria hissed coldly through her teeth.

The girl smirked wickedly. The once-innocent demeanor she held when Aria first came here was no longer there. "And what about your mistake?" she sneered. "I apologized for my mistakes. Miss Aria, when will _you _ever apologize for yours?"

Aria stood up so quickly, the chair fell back with the force. "We're not sorry," she bellowed, her fists clamped so hard they were shaking. "We thought you were dead… And I would like you a lot better that way." Turning around, she crisply added, "Maybe then you'll stay out of our lives, but knowing you, your ghost will haunt us until we die. But maybe after that you'll make your home in hell." With that, Aria strode away, but tripped when the maniac, aroused by her quickly escalating fury, grasped Aria's skirt.

"You buried me!" she screamed, and the nurse ripped Aria's dress in the process of removing the girl clinging to her "old friend." And she kept yelling that over and over—"You buried me, you buried me!"—until it was like a chant in Aria's ears and a nurse forcefully led her away.

"I'll kill you!" Alison shouted shrilly. Aria paused and whirled around, genuine fear striking her heart, for never had Alison ever threatened her life. "I'm going to get out of here and kill you, the same way I did—"

But her voice was muffled as the nurse kicked a baffled Aria out of Radley Sanitarium. For a moment she stood there, staring up at the dreary place as her heart leapt up and down in her throat, but eventually she unfroze and picked up her skirts, graciously accepting the hand of her horseman as he helped her into the carriage.

As Radley disappeared out of sight, Aria relaxed into the cushion of the back seat, her dominant right hand fisted at her chest. Her fingers grazed the warmed metal object clenched in her fist. Tremulously she opened it, and the rusty locket stared back at her.

And there was the picture of Alison, blonde and made-up and beautiful, standing between four other girls with each of their faces scratched out.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Arrival**

The manor, magnificent and foreboding, came into view the moment the carriage passed the wrought-iron gates. Ezra Fitzgerald, recently christened Ezra Fitz, scrutinized the place he would be staying with unanticipated content. The setting was flourishing with flora, and the mansion appeared well taken care of and comfortable. This was it, he thought. His new life was beginning.

It was over two months ago that Ezra had disinherited himself from his family after two arranged marriages forced upon him by his mother. The first woman, Jacqueline, he had had a nauseating sensation on what his mother was planning with her; the second woman, Margaret, however, he saw as a complete surprise. _Why_, he had berated his mother, _after the last courtship ended before it was sealed, did you think it was a good idea to shove it on me again?_

All they wanted was his fortune, of course, and his high-born status, and his mother wanted their riches and regal background as well. And Ezra didn't want to marry for that at all. He'd been called quixotic and naïve, but Ezra refused to follow a set of societal rules mankind had set for reasons he'd never understand.

Ezra quitted the carriage and mentally embraced Ella Montgomery for answering his prayers—well, more like his advertisements. A woman with brown hair swept into a bun and murky brown eyes welcomed him to the household—and lo and behold, it was Ella Montgomery herself. She led him into the foyer and began pointing out important rooms in the house—the kitchen, dining room, drawing room, etc.—before waving him upstairs. She was rushed and efficient; he'd only been in the household for fifteen minutes and already his mind was spinning. As they padded up the stairs, Ezra noticed the paintings leading up the staircase. There was a young boy with what appeared to be his older sister, maybe, above the first step. He recognized none of the others, except for the one of Ella, but a specific one of the same young woman from the portrait below caught his eye. She wore a dress that bared her neck and shoulders (a bit risqué), her dark brown hair was curled and pinned up, and there was a wisp of a smile on her bow-shaped lips almost hidden by the floral-designed fan held near her fair face. Yet her eyes, the most soulful part of the body, were glanced downward. The ivory-skinned beauty in the painting intrigued Ezra, and he paused to stare at it briefly. If only he could see her eyes…

"You'll be instructing my daughter Aria. She's eighteen years old and quite a handful. In fact—" Ella stopped and strode to a window, peeking out past the curtain, "—I wouldn't be surprised if she's up in a tree right now. She was quite the mischief maker as a child, you know, always ruining her dress or hair and climbing trees like a boy. But I digress. She's been out of school for a year now for…personal reasons. I want her to finish her education, but I don't want to send her away. That's what you're here for." She opened a door which led into a long hallway. "Your room is down here and is the last door to the right. I'll let you get acquainted."

"Um," Ezra called out, and she turned back around at the top of the staircase. "When will I meet your daughter?"

"At dinner tonight, for certain, unless you choose not to join us, which is completely your choice," she replied. Ezra had only known Ella for less than an hour, but already he could tell she was a very independent, liberal woman, drastically different than other families he had visited. For one, eating with them would never be his pick; it'd be a command and a polite gesture. "But if you're lucky enough, maybe you'll run into her." And that he did.

He stopped to study a painting on the wall, which appeared to be another portrait of the daughter of the household, but this time her eyes were looking at the painter. They were a warm brown, with swirled hues of shiny green and specks of gold, a genuine, melting hazel. He stepped backwards and instantly knocked into something solid that let out a surprised "oof!"

When he turned around, he saw a young woman with dark, nearly black, hair braided into a delicate up-do bent near the ground (as best as she could be in a corset and thick skirts) and picking up scattered sheet music. "I'm so sorry," Ezra blabbed as he got down on his knees and helped her gather them up.

"You're fine," she said in a sweet, alluring voice. Ezra looked up and was met by the same pair of painted hazel eyes he'd just been staring at. He gave her his hand and helped her up, a bit taken aback by her beauty. The paintings hadn't done her justice and, he noted, did an unsatisfying job on getting her nose right.

"You must be Aria," he spoke as she ran her palms over her wrinkled skirt. "I'm Ezra, the new tutor."

"Oh." Aria's round eyes widened. There were beams of energy radiating off her entire being, like she could run for hours on end and still not be exhausted. But the most concentrated area where excitement raged was in those round, mesmerizing eyes. "I didn't think you'd be so young."

"If you consider twenty-four young."

"Which I do."

"But I have an old soul…" By this point, Ezra was just grasping for anything to say to keep the conversation going. He knew he was the outsider in the household, but he didn't want to be one for long, and it'd been a while since he'd been in young company, or any company at all.

"As do I." And she smiled warmly, and Ezra melted inside.

"This is going well so far. We already have something in common."

"Hmm," Aria hummed, examining him up and down. Physically he wasn't too bad looking; it would either make her last year of studies very difficult or very easy. And his eyes, she could tell, unlike the orbs of most people she met, expressed every emotion, whether it be turmoil or exuberance, through a glimmering sapphire hue. "Have you found your room?"

"Umm…" Ezra trailed off and reluctantly opened the last door on the right. "Here, I guess."

"Are you doing anything right now?"

For having just met her, she was oddly unreserved. All of the young women he'd met in his lifetime kept quiet, cautiously flirted, and batted their eyes; but, obviously, Aria wasn't the typical woman. He felt like they were becoming great acquaintances already. "No."

"Walk with me to the piano room then?" she asked eagerly, a hint of a hopeful shimmer reflecting off the hazel mixture. "It's been weeks since I've had any young people to talk to."

They started walking and Ezra blurted out before thinking, "Was that not your brother then, in the portraits above the stairs?"

The optimistic gleam burned out on Aria's face. "Yes, it was," she spoke quietly and sullenly. "Mike passed away… From consumption, less than a year ago. It will be nine months this Sunday."

Ezra felt like the biggest idiot of the century. It wasn't his place to ask, yet he did anyway. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Please, you don't need to apologize." Aria said the words rapidly and flew towards a door. Obviously she didn't want to talk about it, and he wasn't offended by her brevity. "Here we are."

As Aria shuffled around the room—pulling aside curtains, setting up the music on the piano stand, dusting the keys—Ezra watched her more intensely than he should. She was just a girl, after all, nothing more. But by the way he was drawn to her, it was almost like she was a supernatural being that he'd never seen before. The best way he'd describe it was an angel, though for all he knew, she might be a dark one in disguise. For now, however, he enjoyed the daughter, and her bustling energy and what appeared to be a strong spirit easily tainted by the reminder of a family tragedy, and it wasn't like he had come here to court her anyway.

Discomforted by the silence, Ezra shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Aria is an Italian name," he blurted out, his cheeks burning by his random, sudden outburst. "Is your family Italian?"

The corner of Aria's pink lips curled up and she shook her head, the curls swishing back and forth. "No. My grandmother was an opera singer. She was known for her arias so my mother chose that name for me. Music runs in the family. That's why I want to teach it, because I don't want to lounge around all day and boss servants around while my husband makes the fortune." She strode over to the piano and ran her finger over the dust-less keys. "If not music, then literature. And I'll teach people the newest publications. Do you know how difficult it is for most people to get a copy of a freshly printed novel? I was able to purchase this lovely book entitled _Jane Eyre,_ but I know the author isn't a man. There is no way a man could write from the mind of a woman that thoroughly." She sat down at the piano and tapped a high note softly, then looked back at Ezra. "Have you read it? _Jane Eyre?_"

"No, I have not," Ezra answered honestly. Back when he was a Fitzgerald heir he was able to buy any book he pleased, even the ones fresh off the printing press, but now it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

"Oh." Aria spread her fingers and played a beautiful chord. Ezra noticed the fiery passion burning in her eyes as she played. She knew he was studying her but she wasn't the type to embarrass boys who had an obvious fondness for her. "You should. I'll leave it on your nightstand."

"I would appreciate that very much," Ezra politely replied, then pointed to a portrait of a stern man. "Is this your father?"

"Yes," Aria answered crisply and bluntly as she began playing a melodic piece from memory.

"Is he here? Will I meet him?"

Again, Aria was quick in her answer. "No," she responded swiftly. "He has a taste for traveling that comes above his family. But I don't blame him." The song she was smoothly playing became slower and slower as her mind became swamped with thoughts. "After my brother died, he fled. He loves me, I know that. But I can't help but think that he preferred Mike over me—his son who will continue the family legacy and fortune over his stubborn, rebellious daughter whose only redemption for being born female would be to marry well. He tried to marry me off before he left, but I'm still young and I refused to be given to a man like property. And I told him that straight to his face—'I will not hand a man my heart unless he treats it well.' Sometimes I imagine that he cried when I was born, but not in the happy sense." Her playing halted and her cheeks flushed. "I apologize. My mouth just kept running. It isn't your place to know this."

"Don't apologize," Ezra spoke calmly. Already they'd both said enough to each other to apologize to each other, in fear of either offending or coming off too informal. "Sometimes all you need to find internal peace is to say it out loud."

The corner of Aria's lip twitched practically unnoticeably, and her cheeks flushed white. "Yes. Sometimes." And she averted her attention back to the piano, banging out a minor chord that made Ezra feel like he was in the House of Usher.

At dinner that evening, Ezra did join the Montgomery mother and daughter. Ella sat at the head, with Aria on her left and Ezra on her right. "It's so lovely having a fresh face in this house," Ella conversed politely. "With just me and Aria here, the house can get quite lonely. Aria's friends can only visit so many times a year."

Ezra poked at the vegetables on his plate and _wished _he had known what it was like to live in a household that was so quiet sometimes, one could hear a pin drop three stories above. But his parents, especially his mother, loved to entertain and always invited friends over. The past couple of years had been infiltrated with women he was expected to choose to marry, and his brother ogling them because he, unlike Ezra, preferred the physical attractiveness of Jacqueline and Margaret and their bags of gold more so than their rather dull minds.

"I'm honored to be here," Ezra responded kindly and, after grinning at Ella, glanced in Aria's direction. Her eyes were cast down on her barely eaten plate, and Ezra wondered if she was always despondent at meals, or if the energy he sensed from her before was a one-time deal and she'd be dead in the eyes at every lesson. She barely spoke and refused dessert while her mother kept blabbing on. Ella, at least, expressed herself very well. As for Aria, Ezra thought, how could someone who came off so blunt and open in one hour become so complex and mysterious in another?

After retiring from the meal, Ezra wished Ella good night and informed Aria that the lesson would start after breakfast. Aria bent her head in understanding before padding upstairs, still low in energy and mood. Ezra couldn't help but feel like he was the cause of her sadness—he was the one to ignorantly mention her brother, after all—and already Ezra knew he disliked seeing her that way, when her features could light up like burning stars when in high hopes, passion, and excitement.

After nine thirty, Ezra retired to bed early and stared at the ceiling in the dark room; the only light was that of the moonlight seeping through the shear curtains. He thought of the life he had left and the life he was starting anew; of his warm welcome to Montgomery Manor; of Ella's kindness; of the quick bond he had already formed with Aria; of Aria's character, switching from a fiery spirit to a quenched depression; of the father Byron he had only heard stories about; of the brother Mike who'd died of consumption. His mind kept racing, kept returning to Aria's admirable features (and she probably looked just as gorgeous without being all made-up) and her robust, original personality. Never had he met a woman like her, especially at her young age, a novice, idealistic adult in a superficial world. A female who actually wanted to be more than a prize to the highest bidder, who had a past dotted with passion and sorrow; nothing like the women he knew back home.

There came a _ping _inside the house and Ezra's ears perked up. That single _ping _turned into a medley of different notes—chords, rhythms, and harmonies. Aria was up, and she was playing the piano, he assumed, until she retired to bed. She probably forgot his room was so close to the piano room. Did Ella listen to her daughter's playing every night? Was it a regular part of the Montgomery pre-bed routine? He had much to learn, but for now, what he did know, he liked.

And then he heard her voice.

It began as a hum, soft and pure and perfectly in-tune, and transformed into words. Each consonant and vowel was impeccably rounded and formed; in all honesty, to hear Aria sing was a pleasure all of mankind should experience. Yes, Ezra _definitely _wouldn't mind falling asleep to this every night.

It was a song bulging with the hope of once-tattered dreams and memories to be restored to their prime. And Ezra shut his eyes and let the music, her voice melodically whispering a beautiful tune, her fingers running across the keys to a majestic accompaniment, lull him to slumber.


End file.
